"Most truths are so naked that people feel sorry for them and cover them up, at least a little bit." -Edward R. Murrow

These are the shadows that paint her walls in the late hours...the darkness in which she dwells, where no one would believe she can breathe.

This is the poetry that explains her moods...they breach the fog, moaning like a lost ship, blushing with the shame of getting caught, giggling with the exhilaration of forgiveness.

The little girl on speed, the puppy in training, the snake in the reeds, the father in the grandstand. The escaped convict in the gas station restroom. The cockroach on the sidewalk at midnight. The homemaker with a bun in the oven and floured fingers. The teenaged boy, zit on his chin, his hand in his pants. The bass player with coke up his nose. The lilac climbing the trellis into her window, across her carpet, around her throat. The paycheck that buys nothing but Charmin, pretzels and ammunition. The droplet of water on the whisker on the kitty on the tuffet on the porch. The red flag in the distance. The sentence that can’t find a period. The email that was only kidding. The phone call that says goodbye.

And then, there is popcorn. Crisp, oozing with butter, dipped in the Hershey bar melted in the other palm. In a dimmed room with images flickering on a giant screen. Thank God you're home.

Relief. Smile when you find it. It won't last long, but it will be back, after this word from our sponsor.

Reach for the one who truly, deeply, completely understands that Heaven is in the cone of vanilla Carvel. Let go when he says yes.

Expect nothing. Except maybe cracker crumbs in bed. That may be your only connection to that which you seek.

Thank you for your patronage.